Change
by Golden-Sama
Summary: [Hiatus] Post Series. Five years is enough time to change people. It changed Michael Lee. However when the STN-J’s newest case hits too close to home, Michael must face the past he prayed to forget and wished to remember. MR, MD, DS, KN
1. Random

**Witch Hunter Robin**

**Change**

**By Golden-sama**

**A.k.a.**

**The Amazing Brando**

**Rated**: PG-13 (borderline R); for Violence, Language, and Sexual Content.

**Summary**: Post Series. Five years is enough time to change people. It changed Michael Lee. However when the STN-J's newest case hits too close to home, Michael must face the past he prayed to forget and wished to remember. M/R, M/D, D/S, K/N

**Disclaimer**: What makes you think I own Witch Hunter Robin? Just curious, because I'm sick of explaining that I don't. Nor do I use any song titles used in this story.

**Author Notes at End of Chapter.**

**---- ---- ---- ---- ----**

_Three hundred and twenty-five years have passed,_

_Since the coven sank in the dark,_

_        A man's mind._

_                A love lost to time._

_                        A monster growing inside._

_Young lovers reunited,_

_        On the eve of mankind's Armageddon . . ._

**---- ---- ---- ---- ----**

**Chapter One . . . **

**"Random."**

"What do you think 'lia?" The boy asked.

"Judging from blood spatter I'd say he was near the north entrance."

A large black tunnel. The kind made for cars to pass under bridges. Tokyo, Japan is home to many of such tunnels. And it was in this tunnel that our story begins. Inside this tunnel were a total of five human beings. One of them dead; four others trying to figure out who or what had done the killing. The dead man was twenty-four year old tourist Alex Sloper; who was found dead by the police at 2:03am. He had been visiting from England.

The other people were locals. The young man bending over the body; the brown haired youth with the dazzling green eyes who took to wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt under his black STN-J jacket was called Daisuke Matawan; the newest addition to the STN-J tactical witch hunting team. The young woman with blood-red hair and cocoa eyes who had dressed herself almost like a nun was called Sheila Douglas, and had been transferred almost five years ago as a replacement to a hunter lost in what the elder team members called "That day" and the younger ones referred to as the collapse of the factory.

"And what killed him?" The third agent asked. He had tall blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled in the light. Haruto Sakaki had been on the team for almost seven years now and he was becoming very good at his job.

Sheila's petite teeth had found their way into her bottom lip as her brown eyes scanned the grounds. She looked down at the mutilated remains of Mr. Sloper and then at the crimson stains on the walls. It was obvious that he had been killed with a bladed weapon, or maybe . . .

"Two knives. Well, daggers really since they would probably be the size of a bayonet." Daisuke responded before Sheila had a chance. He stood up and peeled the surgical gloves off his hands before walking down to the north end of the tunnel near Sakaki and pointing at the blood stains on the walls.

"Why two?" Sakaki asked.

"Well, he was sliced here." Daisuke responded; feeling very proud that he could show off to his superior office and personal icon. (He had been swooning over Sakaki since he saw the motorcycle or so Doujima had joked about) "See, here he was sliced with a knife made for chopping. Blunt on one end, sharp on the other. Like a pocket-knife blade or a katana or somethin'. Then he ran over to there where he was stabbed through the back with a thrusting knife; sharp on both ends. You can tell from the wound on his back. If he had been stabbed with a knife made for cutting the wound would be misshaped on one side. Since it isn't we've got to assume the witch used two different blades."

Sakaki paused for a moment. "Err . . ."

"He's right Haruto." The fourth agent of the STN-J called. Sakaki sweatdropped and shot a venomous glance at the man sitting against the wall.

"I know he is Michael!"

Michael chuckled to himself. He wasn't the Michael Lee of five years ago. For one, he wasn't sitting in Raven's Flat and communicating with these people via headsets. Instead he was sitting against the wall of the tunnel typing away on a miniature laptop that sat in his lap. However it wasn't just the fact he was here that was different. His pony-tail had been traded in for a look of spiked hair and his usual ensemble of a black shirt and cargo pants had now been joined by a Hunter's jacket; complete with a holstered gun on his chest.

Michael was no longer an intelligence agent. He was a Witch Hunter. Not the best in the world; but he had been doing it for almost four in a half years and he was very well respected by the others. Daisuke seemed to look up to Sakaki more just because Sakaki gave off more of a "cool" vibe with his bike. Sheila however seemed to like Michael and always listened to him.

"Well." Michael said at length as he stood up and closed the laptop, setting it back into his pocket. "Karasuma won't be happy. I can't find one thing to point to this being a witch."  
  
Sakaki, who was now inspecting the blood on the wall turned around and stomped his foot in rage. "Damn it! This is the fifth murder like this in three days Mike! No human could do this much this fast!"

Michael shook his head. "I agree. The circumstances are pointing to a witch; but only the circumstances. Alex Sloper, like the other victims, was killed in human fashion. And until someone proves otherwise we have to let the police handle this."

Sakaki went off into a strew of cursing and Daisuke and Sheila both looked as if they were eight and someone had just told them Santa Clause was murdered on their roof. Michael shook his head and ran a hand through his hair before he began walking down the length of the tunnel to where his car was parked. Before he reached it he turned around and called back to the others.

"Haruto, take some blood samples just in case. It's probably all the victims but we could get lucky. If it is a witch we can tell from their DNA."

**----**

_"Hey Robin, can I talk to you for a minute?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Look. I, I know this isn't right to say this now. But we are breaking into the factory in a few hours and . . ."_

_"What is it Michael?"_

_"I just . . . I care about you Robin. A-and not just as a friend."_

_"Don't say anymore."  
  
_

_"No, Robin I know you can't feel the same way about me, but I wanted to tell you befo--"_

_"Michael I feel exactly the same way about you. But I won't let you lose faith. We won't die today, and I don't want to hear you say these things because you think we will. Have faith Michael. In God, in yourself, in me. In us."_

_"Robin . . ."_

----

The conversation played back in Michael Lee's head everyday. It had everyday for five years. It was because of that day; the day the Factory fell, that Michael's life changed in huge, irreversible ways.

And as he drove the old black car down the road, his hands clamped on the wheel and his eyes on the street even if his mind was still trapped five years in the past, he thought about that conversation. He thought about the irony that Robin Sena had shared his feelings and he never once got a chance to do anything about it. To Michael it struck him as depressing.

Of course he still believed to this day that she was alive. He would never truly believe that Robin was dead. He did, however, believe that his chances of ever seeing her again were shortening with every passing day. And now it seemed nearly impossible. It would seem impossible to anyone in the position that Michael had been put in. Still, he never quite lost hope . . .

As the black car drew nearer to Raven's Flat, Michael twisted the wheel and slammed his foot down on the breaks and skidded to a halt in the dark garage. After he'd come to a stop he let himself out of the car and closed the door behind him. Reaching into the deep pockets of his cargo pants Michael retrieved a cell phone and brought it up to his ear. He hit the speed dial for number three and ringing filled his ears. After the fourth ring a female voice answered.

"Calling to yell at me?" Doujima teased.

"You can't keep skipping hunts." Michael lectured.

"What hunt? You stood in a smelly tunnel for an hour and looked at a mutilated body. No thanks Mike."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Been talking to Sakaki, have you?"

Doujima giggled over the phone and then spoke again, this time in a flirty voice. "You jealous?"

"Don't start." Michael snapped. Then a moment later, as he reached the elevator and climbed inside, he sighed and spoke again in a soft voice. "Sorry, I'm just stressed over this case."

"Mmmhmm." Doujima replied. "Is that the only reason?"

Michael was quiet. When the silence lasted the entire length of the elevator ride he sighed and finally broke it and interrupted the thoughts that had filled both of their heads. "Yeah I'm here, call you later."

"No 'I love you?'" She teased.

"Goodbye Doujima." Michael's annoyed voice replied as he beeped the button and dropped the now hung-up cell phone back into his pocket. As he entered the room a woman with dark red hair looked up from her desk and smiled at Michael as he walked over.

"No luck?" Karasuma suggested.

"None." Michael replied as he collapsed into a chair next to the desk Karasuma sat behind. Miho Karasuma had once been an active Witch Hunter, like Michael was now. But five years was a long time. Even in the days of Zaizen her craft had been weakening and now it was almost gone completely. She still had the ability to scry when she truly put her mind to it; but it took so much out of her that she had hung up her gun and taken on a management job working for Kosaka. Kosaka himself had been promoted to working at the SOLOMON Japan Branch's Headquarters and Hattori had gone with him. Now Karasuma was the Chief.

"Still no sign that the stabber is a witch, then?" Karasuma sighed in return. She had been working brutal hours just as Michael had to try to find some sign that this killer could be a witch. They knew he had to be since five people had been murdered in only three days. No human could have committed five murders this grizzly and not leave a shred of evidence. It was just too unlikely. However that seemed to be the case.

"Have you run backgrounds on all the victims?" Michael inquired, hopefully.

"No connections. Different nationalities, religions, sexes, races, some were witches, and some weren't. It's the most random murder pattern I've ever seen." Karasuma shot down his theory.

"Too random." Michael suggested. "There's a connection somewhere. We just haven't found it yet."

Karasuma leaned back in her chair. "You're usually right Michael, but we have spent the last three days devoted only to this case; and it is officially still a police matter. Kosaka isn't happy."

Michael shook his head and offered her a weak smile. "Don't go political on me now, Karasuma-san. This is a witch's doing, I'm sure."

Karasuma took a sip from the coffee mug she had retrieved from her desk. When she finished and set it back down she nodded to him. "I'll hold off SOLOMON as long as I can. But maybe tomorrow you should send Daisuke and Sheila on a different case and help me out."

Michael smirked. "Can't I send Sakaki on a different case, those kids are so helpful."

Karasuma offered him a laugh before she yawned and stood up. "Alright, well I'm heading back to my office."

"I'm going to stay and go over the DNA reports." Michael announced. "Maybe I can find some sign of the attacker."

Karasuma nodded to him, said a good night between a yawn, and then retreated up the steps to the large office. It was common knowledge that she had been sleeping in her office lately so that she could stay on top of their cases. Michael thought this sounded very intelligent; but he wouldn't sleep in Raven's Flat for one single night if he could help it. It brought back too many memories. Zaizen, the leash, Robin . . .

**----**

In a small bar in New Orleans, Louisiana there sat a pair of men. One of them was round, tan and bald. The other was tall, pale and his dark hair went down to his shoulders. Neither of the men was eating anything; but they both had glasses of whiskey in front of them and a tall bottle of the same liquor sat on the table.

"Are you sure about this information?" The dark-haired man asked.

"Yes I am." His bald headed friend replied as he took a shot of whiskey. "His name is Hitachi Kuro. He's been linked to Maiji."

The dark haired man narrowed his eyes. "I don't care about Maiji. I care about Robin Sena."

The bald man yawned. "I told you. Sena is connected to Maiji. Find Maiji, and, if she's still alive, you'll find Sena."

The dark haired man finished his whiskey and then stood up. "Thank you Frank."

Frank began to pour himself a second shot of whiskey. "Hell Amon, I owe you my life. I'll help you find the girl. But Amon; be careful with Maiji. She's dangerous."

Amon turned and walked towards the door. As he did he spoke the words "So am I." and then vanished.

**----**

Michael was just about ready to give up. He had been searching through the DNA files for nearly two hours and five in the morning was approaching fast. Finally, as he stifled a loud yawn, Michael's eyes fell on something. He had been going through every drop of blood on the crime scene and had found them all to be the victims. Now however there was a spot of crimson life-liquid that Sakaki had sampled that was different. The DNA was different; and there was a distinctive witch chromosome. Feeling as if God had just given him a miracle, Michael quickly extracted the data and began to run a search through all criminal, medical and military records on file. He also began to run it through SOLOMON's known witch database which covered the entire planet. Michael stood and yawned once again; a deep yawn, before he turned and made his way to the makeshift kitchen of the flat.

Pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, the twenty-one year old hacker-turned-hunter found himself remembering Robin. Before SOLOMON had began hunting her, he and Robin had spent many nights together drinking coffee and eating donuts. She always surprised him with them and he always thanked her. It was during those nighttime rendezvous that he had fallen in love with Robin Sena. He stilled loved her. Even after five years and one relationship he stilled loved her. He never would stop; even if he wouldn't see her again.

He made his way back over to the table and sat down. After shaking the mouse to flicker the screensaver away, Michael's eyes went over the reports. Nothing in the criminal, medical or military records turned up as a match on the DNA. However there was a hit on the SOLOMON database. Grinning for the first time in a long time, Michael quickly brought up the report. He was a hunter now; but he was still the master of computers and his fingers still danced over the keyboard faster than many would think possible. His eyes still sponged up all of the data on the page faster than was possible.

He had found his killer. And the killer was a witch.

**----**

Dihn Van Quan sat in his hotel room with a smirk on his face. He was of Vietnamese decent; as his name clearly indicated. In his own language it meant: "Summit Cloud Soldier". To him this was a good name to have. "Summit" was a strong word that reminded people of a mountain's pinnacle. It showed people that he was a strong man. "Cloud" showed that he was an enigma. He could be calm and cool one day; and like a raging storm the next. He enjoyed that. However what he was most proud of was his family name, "Quan", which meant Soldier. For he was a soldier. His father had been a soldier. His father had taught him how to be a soldier before _they_ came . . .

Men. Men with knives and guns. Thieves and Marauders who wanted only to steal his father's money. They killed his father and then they raped and killed his mother before his eyes. Then they turned to Dihn. They came with their knives and wanted to kill him. And then he fought back. He fought back with the craft.

Ah, what a unique craft. He had, as a child, believed that he was the only man in the world with special powers. Then he had met an American man who had taught him that many had these powers; they were called witches. The man had instructed Dihn that witches had to stick together because of people called SOLOMON.

_"Who is Solomon?"_

_"SOLOMON is a bunch of humans who fear us." He had explained. "They fear our powers and they try to kill us. Now me, I'm strong enough to fight them. You have to harness your powers and become strong too. Then you can defeat SOLOMON."_

Until this point, Dihn had been seeing the world different. Now he understood how the world was. SOLOMON was bad, and the innocent witches were good. He would fight SOLOMON as a soldier just as his father had fought as a soldier.

Now, years after his father's death, Dihn was a stronger man. He had spent years developing his powers and ever since the turn of the new millennium he had been using his powers. Going from country to country and killing SOLOMON wherever he could. Then things changed. Mr. Kuro taught him better.

Now Dihn was in his hotel room. He was sitting on his bed and looking down at his bare chest. He was in good shape; except for the large gash that he was staring at. It had been given to him when he had killed Alex Sloper. Well, not given to him. He had cut himself. He had let the STN-J find his DNA.

And when they came here to kill him; he would be ready.

**---- ---- ---- ---- ----**

**Current tunes**: _Should've Been A Cowboy_ – **Toby Keith**

**Author's Notes**: BOOOO-YAAAAHHHH!


	2. Dihn Van Quan

**Witch Hunter Robin**

**Change**

**By Golden-sama**

**A.k.a.**

**The Amazing Brando**

**Disclaimer**: My ownership of WHR isn't even a joke. I own nothing.

**Author Notes at End of Chapter.**

**---- ---- ---- ---- ----**

**Chapter Two . . . **

**"Dihn Van Quan."**

It was nearly seven-thirty in the morning when the STN-J convened in the conference room. Michael was sitting behind his computer, typing away and broadcasting images of a man with black hair and a pony tail. Haruto was hanging off his chair as he stifled a yawn. Sheila sat with her head in her hands and a look of someone who was inches from a deep sleep. Daisuke _was_ asleep; and Doujima had a black marker and was doodling a small mustache on his face. Karasuma finally appeared at the door, walked to her seat (the one Zaizen had sat in years before) and then Michael looked up.

"Michael." Haruto sighed. "Why did you call us all in here so early?"

"I have our killer." Michael replied. Instantly Karasuma's eyes flicked to him, Doujima slipped her marker and it drew a line over Daisuke's eye; causing him to wake up right away. Sheila lifted her head and seconds later everyone in the room was looking at Michael. Michael's eyes which were hidden behind the orange glasses began to slide over the screen and look at all of the information pouring in from SOLOMON's databanks. Since five, he had been reading and re-reading this information and now he had it memorized.

"This is Dihn Van Quan. Approximately forty-seven years old, Vietnamese decent, and one of SOLOMON's top twenty most wanted witches in the world."

This instantly brought the attentions of everyone to a new level. The selective top twenty most wanted witches list was reserved only for the most elusive and most dangerous witches on the planet. Michael typed in the keys and the list appeared. Twenty names; some with pictures some without. At the top of the list, in number one was a picture-less name called 'Masaki Mino Maiji', wanted for using her craft to commit terrorist acts of violence that results in the deaths of over four thousand people. Below that in number two was a man with short black hair and a smug smile with the name 'Jackson David Rica' plastered below, and over one hundred and eighty counts of first degree murder to his record. And down below Rica, in the number three slot was the man whose picture Michael had posted on the screen before. Dihn Van Quan was wanted for sixty counts of murder in the first degree using the craft powers of a witch. Nearly half of the sixty people he'd killed had been SOLOMON hunters and other officials.

Sakaki whistled as he read the charge below the picture. Sixty counts of murder. Michael quickly typed fasted and suddenly a picture came up. It was a picture from SOLOMON's file on him. A picture of city that looked as if it was once peaceful. The city may have been peaceful before the picture was taken. However this picture displayed bodies lying on the ground as flames burnt the houses down behind them. Michael began to read.

"That's a small settlement in the woods near Salem. The only witch safe haven in the world, and the site of SOLOMON's biggest witch hunt in history. SOLOMON allows witches to live in this area near Salem without being hunted as long as they never leave and they never use their craft on one another. Dihn Van Quan passed the exam to get in. Less than six hours after he was allowed into the safe-haven he grabbed a gas station pump and a lighter and made his own torch. He burnt down half the town and killed thirty of the witches living in the town. SOLOMON showed up and he killed six of their agents too."   
  
By the time Michael had finished explaining this, everyone in the room was so quiet and focused on what the ex-hacker turned hunter was saying that not even Doujima's sarcasm or Sakaki's slacking off was alive here. The horror of Dihn Van Quan's murder spree was enough to keep even those who are best at slacking off on the job this time. And it wasn't even half over.

"Two years later he showed up in Dublin, took out two SOLOMON agents and an innocent civilian who got in his way. A nine year old civilian. Three years after that he killed nine people in Berlin, and four years after that he took out a SOLOMON special forces team in Hong Kong. No one has seen him since. Until now. His DNA was on Mr. Sloper's body."

"Damn." Sakaki whistled. "And you think this is the guy?"

Michael nodded. "His craft is an adrenaline accelerant, instead of the usual special power. It makes him stronger and faster than any human being. He could swim the English Channel in a matter of hours, jump the Grand Canyon in a single bound, and punch through steel without breaking a sweat."

Doujima sighed. "So how do we take him down?"

Michael stripped his glasses from his head and rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and index finger. After a moment of rubbing his face he turned his gaze up and faced the curly haired blond.

"I started a trace on him. I think he's staying at the Hilton downtown in room 2070. Daisuke, Doujima and Sakaki will go in through the front door. No body armor, since we think he's using bladed weapons and he'll go for the throat anyway. The forecast calls for rain, so Sheila, you're on the fire escape. If he tries to get out the window do your thing and slow him down. I'm going to be on the room with an assault rifle. If he makes it that far I'll try to take him out. If he does get on the roof he'll be able to jump to another roof and we'll lose him."

**----**

Dihn was in his room, lying on his back on the bed. The sheets were an ugly color of brown and the walls were covered in old, peeling wallpaper. For a fancy hotel it was horrible to the ascetic part of the brain. The phone, which was manila, suddenly started to ring. Dihn reached his hand over and clicked the speaker button. A voice, harsh and cold, filled the room.

"Mr. Van Quan, your job is almost complete. My agent in SOLOMON tells me the STN-J has found you and is coming after you. Today. They're on route now. You know the plan. Keep to the code."

Dihn didn't say a word. After the voice spoke those words a dial tone filled the room in its absence. Dihn slowly rose to his feet and crossed across the room. He dressed quietly in a black suit filled with pockets and clasped; the kind used for covert operations. He opened a small chest that sat on a chair by his bed and removed a long, silvery machete with a brown handle. He also removed an old bayonet. He placed the machete on the belt across his chest and he packed the bayonet into his belt around his waist. Then he walked over to the edge of the bedroom and sat down in a chair by the window, not moving and not speaking. Just sitting and waiting for the STN-J to show up and do what it was they do.

**----**

"Your passport is ready." Frank Graham's voice filled Amon's ears as the tiny black phone was raised.

"Good." Amon replied curtly. "And Maiji?"

"She'll be in Tokyo in a week. I don't know where, you have to find her yourself. But if you get a hit let me know and I'll run my sources."

"Thank you Frank." Amon's cab had arrived. His dark fingers clasped around the handle of the silvery suitcase and he stood and exited the car as continued pressing the phone to his ear. The cab driver gave an angry shout that Amon had not paid him. Amon turned and glared at the man in stare that could have frozen fire before setting down the briefcase and pulling a few dollars out of his pocket and handing the man the American brand of money.

"No Amon, thank you." Frank finally responded. He was obviously distracted wherever he was. "You're about to do me one hell of a favor. I can't repay that."

Amon's voice was full of disapproval. "You're wrong. You've already repaid it. If I find Robin, I'll be in your debt."

Frank sighed. "I'll call you back when it's done."

"Fine. I'll be ready."

Amon clicked the phone off and pocketed it. Afterwards he stepped forward off the curb. He was in the "Dark Side" of New Orleans. The side of the city that was full of booze, hookers and poker. It was also the side of the city that had for hundreds of years been the home to spies and vampires in the novels of the American Culture. If only people knew that this was the home of things far worse. Spies and Vampires were nothing compared to SOLOMON and Witches. And this was a witch City.

The casino he stepped into was run by a man named Tony Graffiti. He was human but he was also such a ruthless mob boss that he could hold his own against witches. He had witches on the payroll. He also had an illegal side of his casino that allowed the betting to get pretty heavy and the prices for not paying even heavier.

The walls were white and covered with portraits of the different people who had been in the casino. Actors, Politicians, Foreign Dignitaries and the like. The floor was a pink marble on the walkways and a green shag carpet underneath the gambling areas. Amon cashed in for a single, hundred dollar chip and walked over to the roulette table. He put all of his money on number six, black.

It was red twenty-five that won. The man in white who had spun the roulette wheel looked up at Amon; and Amon nodded.

"Mr. Amon, I presume?" The man in white asked.

"Yes. Does our deal still stand?"

"Of course. I'll take you to see Tony now."

Amon and the man in white made their way over the pinkish floor and into the elevator. Not the elevators that lead up to the customer's rooms; but the lone elite elevator that went to Tony Graffiti's penthouse suite. And as soon they had stepped out Amon found a long brown hallway with a single, green painted door in the wall.

The man in white unlocked the door with a small key on his belt. He then walked inside and beckoned Amon after him. Amon stepped in and as soon as he did two of the three men other than them went for their guns. It wasn't a friendly business.

The suite would have been beautiful. The carpet was stained in different places. Some of them looked like blood, others like pizza sauce and some looked like . . . well Amon truly hoped that Tony Graffiti would do that in the bathroom and not on the floor. The walls were covered in rich pink wallpaper; but there were so many Playboy Centerfolds on the walls it was almost impossible to see the original wallpaper. Two men, both tall and lanky, one with sandy-blonde hair and the other with cherry red, now had guns in their hands. Tony was behind his desk; he was fat and short and he didn't bother to pick up a gun. Instead he just held onto the pizza pocket in one hand and the adult magazine in the other.

"Mr. Graffiti." The man in white said. "Mr. Amon would like to talk to you concerning Frank Graham's debt to our casino."

"I don't care." Tony replied in a guff voice. "Unless you want to pay it off, that is." Tony had noticed the suitcase in Amon's hand and become much friendlier towards him. Amon remained colder than ice.

"I want you to drop the debt." Amon spoke forthrightly.

"Ha." Tony chuckled in a voice that reminded Amon a lot of cheese that had sat in the sun too long. The oily haired man behind the desk scratched his salt-and-pepper shaded hair before leaning back in his chair and yawning. "Fuck you, Mr. Amon."

"Frank said you might say that." Amon replied. In a split second Amon had gone for his gun. The two men who were tall and lanky opened fire and the man in white had twisted around to do the same but Amon grabbed him around the throat and pulled him in front of him. The bullets shredded the man in white (whose clothes were now stained a deep ruby) and Amon didn't waste any time in shooting both of the gunmen down.

Tony began rattling through his drawers. He pushed the pink "snowball" candies and the porno books aside and he ratted for his gun, but Amon fired twice. They both connected with Tony's head and the mob boss fell backwards onto the stained carpet and died on the spot. Amon walked over to the desk and opened the briefcase (which was empty) and then he opened the bottom drawer of Tony's desk which revealed a large stack of money.

Amon loaded the money into the briefcase and then walked back to the door; stepping over the bodies. Amon had no interest in the money himself but Frank had requested that when he go to kill Tony Graffiti so that he himself could live, he bring back some cash so that Frank could play the card tables. Amon had pointed out that poker was the reason a mob boss had wanted him dead in the first place; but Frank had shrugged it off much in the same way Amon had shrugged off Frank's warning about Maiji being a dangerous person.

It was done. Now Amon just had to get on that plane.

**----**

"Everyone ready?"

Sakaki, Daisuke and Doujima were at the end of the hallway on the twentieth floor of the Hilton in Tokyo. They were slowly making their way across the carpeting and towards the door of room 2070; the door that would lead them to a vicious killer. Headsets and black coats were the standard issue. Guns were held tight in hand and everyone on the floor (except Van Quan, of course) had been notified by hotel security that a drug bust was going on and they needed to remain in their hotel rooms for their own safety. Of course this was no drug bust.

Walking slowly, Sakaki lifted a finger to his headset and pressed the dial until he was on channel one. The static from the rain came pouring though to his ear as he heard a steady dropping on the headsets of both of his companions who had braved the swirling mass of cloud and plummeting liquid to remain in place incase the attack moved to the fire escape.

"Lia', you in place?" Haruto whispered quietly into the microphone.

Outside on the cold, rusted fire escape outside of room 2072, Sheila Douglas was sitting and waiting. Her black dress; in the nun's style, was soaked completely and her dark red hair was plastered to her face. She had a struggle keeping the wet hairs out of her eyes; but she knew how important it was that she did so. Raising her hand and holding the headset closer she heard Sakaki's question; thought it sounded far away and full of static from the rain.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Just hurry up, would you?"

Sakaki didn't respond. He was almost to the door now. Doujima and Daisuke ran forward and hugged the wall on either side. Doujima's eyes were closed as she waited; her chest heaving slightly as she took in a deep breath and prepared herself for the gruesome battle at hand. Van Quan had never fought a SOLOMON team that he hadn't killed at least one of their agents. Daisuke was holding steady with a determined look on his hazel eyes and his brown haired head waiting to catch a glimpse of the enemy.

"Michael?" Sakaki inquired as he moved into place directly in front of the door, holding his gun steady.

On the roof, Michael was crouched down in the rain. His orange glasses were folded and kept in his pocket because the rain was smudging them horribly. Michael was holding a Steyr AUG 5.56 assault rifle. With Orbo a thing of the past, the STN-J had gone to using two types of hunting weapons. Regular Bullets and regular military equipment; which the Steyr was, and the newly discovered runic bullets. The runic bullets helped seal a witch's power. They weren't nearly what the Orbo had been; they could only diminish the power and only for a few moments. The bullets were also designed in a way that made them hard to get a kill with unless you hit the target in the head or a soft spot. So regular bullets were now used for most hunts.

"I'm ready." Michael replied as his short, spiky hair cut (which was nothing like his old pony-tail look from five years ago, he reminded himself) was now soaked and falling to his face lazily. Michael was ready to fire at Van Quan if he made it this far.

"Alright." Haruto sighed. "Let's do this."

Daisuke and Doujima were still on either side of the door, guns ready and held firmly. Sakaki walked in front of the door and narrowed his eyes. Five years ago he had only just begun showing signs of his telekinetic craft abilities; now he was an A-Class craft user well on his way to S-Class. In a second the door unlocked from the inside and burst open. Sakaki ran into the room and Doujima and Daisuke moved to the doorway to provide cover fire.

They saw Dihn Van Quan for a brief second. The brief second before the bed Dihn had been holding was thrown at them. Doujima and Daisuke retracted to the walls but Sakaki wasn't so lucky. He used his craft to try to stop the bed but he only slowed it down and the mattress hit him in the face. While it was on the mattress, it did send him tumbling backwards where he hit the wall behind him and banged his head painfully. Michael hadn't been kidding about this guy being stronger than ordinary people.

"Rargh!" Daisuke had gone to the doorway and began shooting; but Dihn had thrown the TV at him. Daisuke's craft; a crushing craft, kicked in and the TV smashed into a tiny cube in midair. Daisuke fired once more and the bullet sailed through Dihn's left wrist. Van Quan screamed and then threw a large bayonet across the room. Daisuke stopped the blade with his craft but as he did Dihn smashed his way through the window and began running up the fire escape.

"NOW SHEILA!" Doujima screamed over the headset.

Outside on the fire escape next to the one that Dihn had jumped on, Sheila was staring up at him with her brown eyes full of an icy wrath. Dihn was becoming soaked with the rainwater quickly which was a good thing; if he had been dry she couldn't have done what she was about to do. Sheila's eyes blazed with a blue light and suddenly a silvery-blue burst appeared on Dihn's back. Van Quan grunted but the blue-and-silver light was moving around his body and coating wherever it passed with a thick sheet of ice.

Michael saw Van Quan reach the roof. He opened fired with the Steyr and the smooth stream of metal that was whisked out of the gun's nozzle flew painfully into Van Quan. Van Quan threw himself to the right and the bullets connected with his left shoulder and arm. Van Quan's entire left arm was dragging limply at his side and blood was being washed out like a river. His back and legs were frozen over with a sheet of ice and he growled like a dog.

Michael let the empty clip fall to the ground beneath him like the rain from the sky. He quickly inserted a new round and began to cock the gun; but Van Quan was fast even when he had taken so much damage. Michael twisted the gun around just in time to have the heel of Van Quan's military boot smash him in the nose. Michael grunted and fell backwards with a thud. Van Quan ran to the edge of the roof, panting and grunting the whole way.

Sheila appeared at the top of the fire escape. She narrowed her eyes and sent a second burst of icy light at Van Quan but she failed to hit him or ignite the clothing to ice over. Knowing her own hand gun couldn't hit him from this distance; she ran to the ground and picked up Michael's discarded rifle. Holding the Steyr up she began firing at the witch; who was now on the next roof. A single bullet connected with Van Quan's back and he screamed in the night; but did not stop.

Sheila dropped the gun and then dropped herself down to Michael's side. "Are you okay Michael-sama?" She asked quickly.

"Did we get him?" Michael asked as he held his sleeve up to his bleeding nose.

"No."

"Then no, I'm not ok."

**----**

Everyone was going about their duties now. Sakaki and Sheila had gone to hunt a witch in the Walled City who had killed one of Amaz's cops. Daisuke was back at Raven's Flat going over Intel with Karasuma. And Michael had driven Doujima home. She claimed she simply wanted to change because of the rain; but Michael knew if he let her go without supervision she'd skip the rest of the work day. Doujima was now at the door to her apartment and she unlocked it and walked inside. Michael slumped against the wall outside and this caused Doujima to stop and turn back to him with a grin.

"I remember when we used to come here." She said quietly.

"Don't start. Not today." Michael sighed.

"Are you telling me it hasn't even crossed your mind? You don't want to come in even a little?"

Michael glared at her. "It doesn't matter if I want to or not. We both know things wouldn't work."

Doujima shrugged. "That was then. It could work now." This was said in the same flirty voice she preferred around Michael; but the next words she said were in a much quieter voice. "You're really special to me."

"Doujima . . ." Michael sighed and turned away. "You can have the rest of the day off."

Doujima sighed as Michael walked back down the hallway. He was gone already out on his way to the car and Doujima crossed her arms and pouted as she leaned into the door. Just as she turned to go into her apartment, she heard footsteps again and for a brief second she believed that Michael had come back; unfortunately it was only her aged neighbor; Mrs. Kinoto.

"Boy troubles?" Mrs. Kinoto asked.

"What? Oh no." Doujima quickly responded. It was common knowledge that Mrs. Kinoto was more on the adult side of conversations and she usually had something to say that nobody wanted to hear an eighty-five year old woman say.

"You don't really need him." Mrs. Kinoto said. "You could just grab a –"

"As sure as I am that what your about to say is gross." Doujima cut her off. "It has nothing to do with sex, so you can leave."

Mrs. Kinoto quirked a gray brow. "Nothing to do with sex?"

"Yeah." Doujima sighed. "I love him."

Mrs. Kinoto shook her head. "Oh, well I'm no help there. Take care. Oh and tell that Haruto boy to pay me a visit sometime."  
  
Mrs. Kinoto had vanished back into her apartment across the hall and Doujima sighed and slipped into her own; closing the door and sighing at her complete misfortune. She was in love with Michael; and she knew he'd never return her love.

**---- ---- ---- ---- ----**

**Current tunes**: _How Forever Feels_ – **Kenny Chesney**

**Author's Notes**: Here are my replies to your reviews, like I said I would do.

**Lea**

Aww, why thank you. I'm glad I'm writing again too. I missed writing new stuff.

**MusiqMistress**

Hey MM! Well, is this soon enough for you? I promise I tried to hurry . . .

**Doggeh******

What choo mean you never have anything to say? You usual do have stuff to say. And as for your worries about Rica; eh, I thought about it, but decided against it. I just like using New Orleans because it's famous for being a town full of Spies and Vampires. –nodnods-

**JCgamer******

Indeed! I'm glad you liked the love triangle, but don't forget that Sakaki is in there too. –snickers-

**Wolflchik******

They do? Wow, I never knew they had laptops that small. Sweet!

**TenchiTenryou38**

-nods- Thank you. I plan to keep writing as long as people will keep reading.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and sorry for the delay. I'll be adding a third chapter soon. Sayonara


	3. The Scarred Man And The Subway Tunnel

**Witch Hunter Robin**

**Change**

**By Brandon Rice**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it.

Wooooo! I'm back baby! Author's notes at end of chapter!

**Airplane Note.** I made up this particular airplane; since this is the technological future and things are new.

**XxXxX**** XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX XxXxX**

**Chapter Three . . . **

**"The Scarred Man and the Subway Tunnel."**

"Isn't this ironic, Amon?"

Two men sat on an airplane. It was the large Boeing model made for the fastest flight to different countries. The model was a fairly new invention and Amon and his partner could be in Japan three times as fast as a normal plane would have taken them. Of course they were not going to Japan. Not yet. They had to pick up their supplies in Hanover, Germany first. Once they had those crucial supplies they would be off to Tokyo to find Robin and to settle the score with Maiji.

"Shut up." Amon replied curtly to the elder man beside him. The man laughed.

The man himself was a real piece of work. He had a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes and he wore a large fedora hat. The hat was pulled down so it shaded his face and the rim of his overcoat was pulled upward for the same purpose. The reason his face was so hidden was because of the large scars that covered the entire left side and most of the right. The skin was wrinkled and scarred and the veins in his face were so visible and exposed that most people who saw them felt sick. The skin also gave off the distinct impression of someone who had once suffered very bad burns and had spent years in surgery trying to repair the damage.

"Hmm. You're unhappy about this?" The scarred man suggested.

"Yes." Amon replied.

"You hate yourself for what you allowed me to do? But deep down inside you know it's our only chance."

"Yes."

"You have always amused me Amon." The scarred man sat back in his seat. He gave a shallow laugh that sounded like wind blowing through an old rusted whistle. The cackle quickly changed into a hacking cough that caused him to wheeze and clutch his side. Amon moved tentatively as if he wanted to help, but the scarred man pushed him away and sat back in the chair looking very offended that Amon had even suggested helping him.

"No!" The man bellowed. "You keep your hands off me, witch!"

Amon leaned back in his chair with a blank stare on his face. The scarred man growled and clutched his chest. He should have died a long time ago but he refused to let the old reaper take him until he saw his mission fulfilled. Turning his face to the window the man sighed and looked down at the blue ocean that was gleaming in the fierce orange of the sunset. Amon didn't say a word to him.

"Do you see now?" The scarred man asked at length, turning his head back to Amon. "That I have always been right?"

Amon did not reply. The scarred man turned a blind eye to his partner's silence. He was much too used to it.

"Can you kill her, Amon?" The scarred man asked as he gave one last cough and covered his mouth with his hand; the veins in his wrist had the same bulging look to them that the ones in his neck and face did.

"Maiji will die." Amon replied.

"I meant Robin." He pointed out.

"We're not going there to _kill_ Robin." Amon spat back; this time a very real surge of anger in his voice. There was the leader.

"You're so naive." The scarred man smirked. "You still believe that Robin Sena can be saved, don't you? You still tell yourself that I'm nothing but a senile, half-dead fool. You'll see soon enough that your entire mission is suicide."

"If it's suicide." Amon retorted. "Why are you here?"

"Please Amon, don't make me laugh; you know it's not good for my lungs." His partner snickered. "I'm here because . . . oh, what does it matter? The point is I _am_ here. And so is this."

In The scarred man's hand, which was clenched in his pocket, there was a small vial of green liquid.

**XxXxX******

In a hospital not far from the downtown Hilton was Dihn Van Quan. The STN-J had been under the impression that he was going to be out of action for a while since one of his arms had been torn to ribbons.

However Dihn had no intention of stopping. He was in the hospital's emergency room. The doctors were coming in now. He could hear them. He knew the STN-J would be watching hospitals and he knew that at the first word of someone coming in with injuries close to Dihn's, they would come for him. So he did not even wait. He looked up at the doctor as he approached.

"Amputate it." He growled.

"Sir," The doctor said in his boringly plain hospital tone. "We can save the limb—"

"Amputate it you stupid fuck!" Van Quan screamed. One of the doctors was filling up a needle with liquid and Dihn realized this was a bad idea. These doctors planned on not listening to him. Jumping up onto the operating table, Dihn took the doctors by surprise. This man had horrible gunshot wounds and he looked ready to keel over dead; instead he was moving with all the grace of an Olympic gymnast. Van Quan swept a leg out and kicked the doctor with the needle away. Then he jumped down and used his good arm to grab a scalpel off the operating tray. One of the doctors began to take a step back but Dihn swiped his arm around and slit the doctor's throat. As a steam of blood shot through the air and the screams of the other doctor's and nurse's echoed in the room, Dihn killed them all one by one and then he bent down to one of the dead men's neck.

"Time to write."  
  
The door opened and a security guard came bursting in. Dihn threw the stiletto into his forehead and watched him fall backwards dead without as much as a grunt. Then Dihn dipped his fingers back into the dead man on the floor and when he rose up he took the blood stained fingers like a paint brush and began to write on the wall.

**XxXxX******

Michael's apartment was nothing special. Old, navy blue carpeting and walls tiled in white wallpaper. The kitchen was just big enough for one of those hotel refrigerators and a small portable grill. The bathroom was no better and he was surprise they managed to fit a shower in that minuscule room. The living room wasn't as diminutive as the other rooms, but Michael didn't use it. He didn't really use any of the rooms actually. He more often than not just stayed in his bedroom, which was just as cramped. The only thing he had was a closet, a bed, and a table that housed his computer and CD player.

Quickly hitting the on button he let the loud rock tunes fill the room. He knew any minute his neighbor would bang on the wall and the guy downstairs would hit the roof with a broom. Michael didn't care. He was a government official and didn't have to turn down his music if he didn't want too; and he didn't want too. Walking over to the closet Michael peeled his wet clothes off and let them go to the over-flowing hamper (he didn't have time to wash his things lately) and then changed into some old clothing that was uncomfortable and itchy.

Sighing he slammed back onto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. It was a noisy room; then again he did have an CD blasting at full volume. Though even with that CD he could not drown out the sounds of his conscious and his reason battling inside his head. It was like his logical intelligence and his love-sick heart were engaged in a samurai-style sword fight. And it sucked very badly.

Part of him told him to move on. Part of him told him that Robin Sena was gone from his life. And that same part told him how very much he had enjoyed the time he spent with Doujima. Doujima could make him laugh anytime and anywhere. She was gifted enough to make him feel like the happiest man in the world. She was also, though she didn't act it, incredibly intelligent and able to compete with Michael's own mind most of the time. And that wasn't even to mention the pure and simple fact that she was probably the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The three years he spent dating here were a very happy time for Michael. He'd been outside Raven's flat for the first time, he'd been on actual dates for the first time, and he'd . . . done other things for the first time too.

And yet; it hadn't worked out. Doujima was clearly in love with Michael and more than willing to spend the rest of her life with him. The reasons were probably just as much a mystery to her as they were to him. And while Michael was in love with her as well; he hadn't stopped being in love with Robin. He hadn't forgotten her and he hadn't forgotten that until that night the factory collapsed, he'd never seen Doujima that way before. Sure; the week of subtle flirting followed by passionate love making on Michael's desk at work had been the start of a three year relationship that had been pure bliss. But every time Michael took a drink or coffee or looked at a donut; he remembered that his heart was still in Robin's hands. Finally, after three years, he decided it was unfair to make Doujima go through this. He knew she suffered. She tried to ignore it whenever Michael got moody around the anniversary of Robin's arrival or departure. She let him slip her name out in times of passion and not say a word. But Michael was all too aware of the deep pain it caused her; and he had finally ended it.

A day hadn't gone by that she hadn't asked him in one way or another to try again. Whether she'd make a joke, look at him in a funny way for a second, or invite him into her apartment after a failed hunt like she had today; he caught her actions. Hell, even when she had dated Sakaki for a brief four months had she not ceased her pursuit of Michael. Michael just stood by pretended not to notice; or dismissed it.

The truth was he didn't want to "not notice" anymore. He wanted to move on and fall in love with Doujima. However he couldn't forget Robin Sena or the brief, but very true love they had shared.

Then Michael's phone rang. He grunted and began to look around for it. He threw pillows aside and ruffled his sheets until he realized it was coming from his pants he had put in the hamper. Throwing open the lid he picked up the soaking wet cargo pants and pulled out his phone, took a quick glance at the caller ID (which read "Karasuma, Miho") and then answered it.

"What've you got?"

**XxXxX******

Amaz Shonen was the lead detective for the Tokyo Police Department. He was also an ambitious, greedy man who wanted to join SOLOMON. Yes, he knew about SOLOMON. He was the STN-J's liaison to the Police Department. He was the cop Michael talked to every time a case came up that the Police handed over to the STN-J. And they hated each other. Michael thought Amaz was a greasy-haired prick who was meddling in things beyond him – and Amaz thought Michael was a total asshole who was trying to keep him stuck as a lonely detective. Oh, Amaz was bright. He was brilliant at figuring out crime scenes. However he had no craft, no experience with witches, and nothing to offer SOLOMON that they didn't have already. Amaz believed that if he caught a witch, SOLOMON may employ him: which is why he hated handing over cases to the STN-J.

Now Amaz was standing in a downtown hospital and looking at the crime scene. He often joked that he could read a crime scene like writing on the wall; but today that joke took on a whole new meaning. Written on the wall in the blood of the fallen doctors was a length note that was addressed to the STN-J. Now there was no proof a witch had committed this crime; but since the killed had left a message for the STN, Amaz couldn't see any way he'd be allowed to keep the case.

"Sir?" One of the younger cops who was still in uniform asked. "I called the STN-J office and—"  
  
"Did I tell you to call them?" Amaz snapped.

"No sir, but I assumed—"

"Never assume." Amaz snarled. Amaz was young and his skin was paler than most. His black hair was tied into a long pony-tail behind his head and his eyes were shaded from everyone else with dark glasses. He turned down to the bodies and looked at them. "Do we have a murder weapon?"

"Yes sir." Another uniformed cop responded. "A scalpel from the doctor's operating tray. It was covered in blood and our finger print dust showed unknown prints not matching the doctors."

"Good." Amaz replied happily as he looked down. "You, idiot rookie –" He said to the youngster who had called the STN-J – "You call the STN-J back and tell them –"

"No need Detective Shonen." Michael announced as he entered the room wearing his dark STN-J hunter's jacket, followed closely by Daisuke. Doujima had become unreachable since Michael gave her the day off and Sakaki and Sheila were still on the hunt in the Walled City, which left only Michael and Daisuke to handle this. "Tell us yourself."

Amaz turned around and glared at Michael as if he had just announced Christmas would be replaced with a new holiday where everyone had to ram hot iron sticks up their asses. Michael's return gaze was no less menacing.

"There is no evidence that this is a STN-J case." Amaz snapped.

"But the man who murdered these people is one of our fugitives." Michael replied. "That makes it a STN-J investigation."

Amaz shook his head. "Warrant?" The STN-J almost never actually used warrants to take cases from the police; even if that was the way they were supposed to do it. Usually the bodies were so mutilated and so oddly killed because of the craft that the police just let the STN-J do what they wanted. Not Amaz. He wanted to make a name for himself.

"Probable Cause." Michael replied. "Now clear your men out of _my_ crime scene."

"You hear him pig-tails." Daisuke's sarcastic wit added.

"Until I see a warrant—" Amaz began, but he never finished that thought. The police radio from one of the uniformed offices was now reporting a crime. Shots fired on the subway tunnel.

Dihn Van Quan had been striking in tunnels under bridges; but everyone in the room had little doubt as to who the attacker on the subway was. Mainly because of the large, red note.

**_STN-J_**

**_  
My wounds run deep._**

****

**_The tunnels shall run deeper._**

****

**_Blood shall flow like the river of apocalypse._**

****

**_And drown shall be the sinner who oppose Kuro-Sama._**

The meaning was obvious.

**XxXxX**  
  


"It's always me, isn't it?"

Nagira had been minding his own business; or trying to at least. He was taking the subway back to his office and had just been boarding the food car on the train (they had tables instead of those cramped seats) when he heard the screams. Turning his head to the right he caught a glimpse of a cop falling down dead on the floor. Someone had snapped his neck. Nagira noticed something else; something odd. A tall man with a long black pony-tail was taking the cop's gun from his belt. Now murdering a cop and stealing his firearm in a crowded subway station was odd enough; but this man happened to have one of his arms dangling limply at the side and looking as if it had been smashed in some huge machine.

What happened next was a surprise for everyone involved. Van Quan tucked the stolen gun into his pants and then ran forward. People who had just seen his murder were screaming and running and as temped as he was to draw his own firearm, Nagira could not. Nagira always carried a gun; a HK USP Tactical. While this was a good gun for a situation when he had to take out some crazy one-armed man who was snapping necks; it was not a good gun for firing in a crowded subway station full of people screaming and running. Nagira reached his hand down below his white coat and withdrew the gun, holding it tightly at his side. Just because he couldn't use it now, didn't mean that fact would remain for long.

Nagira's eyes traced after Van Quan, who was running towards the tunnel of the subway. Why this man would go and kill the cop and then run down a subway tunnel was beyond him; but Nagira was much too familiar in these kinds of things to argue. As a lawyer he dealt with a lot of people who committed crimes. And as . . . well, his second job didn't really have a name, but it did present him a fascinating life. Much like this day, filled with murder and gunfights. Fascinating.

Nagira cursed loudly and took off running. Now he knew the police (or possibly the STN-J; this guy had lost a lot of blood and he was still going strong. Witch maybe?) would be better suited at catching this maniac. And the remembrance of newspaper articles about a serial killer and the striking similarities with this unknown assailant were rather odd. Still, Nagira was compelled to hurl himself down the subway tunnel and towards this unknown figure. He held the gun tightly and he prayed his eyes would adjust to the darkness soon. While he was at it, Nagira prayed no train was coming this way.

**XxXxX******

The train station that had been attacked was now all over the police radios. A cop was dead, and according to reports two men had run into the dank railroads that ran beneath the festive city of Tokyo. This was horrible news, Michael knew. Daisuke, Michael and Amaz had gone straight from the hospital to their cars, and they had all arrived at the station around the same time. Not the station that Dihn Van Quan had killed a cop at, but the next one down the line. Dihn was on the subway, according to eyewitnesses, heading south. So the STN-J, as well as their annoying police pal, had gone south and began heading north.

Michael had been hunting for a while now, and even before it he had always stayed in good shape. Still, a run between two subway stations was no simple task. Amaz and Daisuke were both ahead of him, panting severely as they went. Michael held his gun tight and sped up. Maybe it was just a personal dislike, or maybe Amaz was simply jealous of the STN-J agent; but Shonen seemed to be running like his life depended on it. He simply had to bag Van Quan before the STN. Mentally, Michael commented on how stupid the three of them were being to run at their fullest and wear themselves out before they found the homicidal witch; but that was merely a personal nitpick.

Daisuke wasn't thinking quite as much. He tried not to think, really, when he could help it. Daisuke Matawan was once, a long time ago, known as Takeda Akaibishi. He had been a popular soccer player at a downtown middle school, and he had a loving family. His father worked in politics, and his mother was a gifted trial lawyer. That all changed when Takeda's craft awoke. That . . . didn't matter. Not right now. Daisuke stopped thinking about what had happened to him that day after soccer practice, and instead he focused on the small, dark silhouettes ahead. He had to strain his eyes to see that far ahead, but he was sure he could see two people.

Then the gunshots came.

**XxXxX******

Nagira's footfalls sped up. He was gaining speed on Van Quan. Whether or not Dihn had seen or heard the man following him was up to interpretation. Nagira really could care less about such things. Instead, he stopped running and held the gun out before him in his right hand, steadying himself with the left. The dark made it hard to take aim, but his now-adjusted eyes lined up the sights as best as was possible and he squeezed off a round. Bang.

The bullet missed, sailing too far to the left. Van Quan threw an arm backwards and as he did he pulled the gun from his waistband. Nagira moved back as bullets came flying his way, and he quickly flattened himself on the ground. As the sound of gunshots continued, but the ding of bullets bouncing around him stopped; Nagira risked a glance and noticed the other people. Two of them, he thought. Maybe three. The gunfight didn't last more than a few seconds at most. The one-armed wonder fired off his entire clip as fast as he could, but one of the people on the other side of Dihn had nailed him. Nagira watched as the cop-killer from the railroad station went down.

**XxXxX******

By the time Michael arrived, panting and out of breath, Van Quan was already out for the count. Daisuke had a triumphal smirk and Amaz was walking cautiously towards the body in a very police-like way. Michael staggered over to Daisuke, his legs feeling a lot like jelly, and wrapped an arm around the younger rookie. Michael's eyes traced over the tracks. The blend of gravel, metal and wood that made up the ground was stained under a pool of dark fluid.

"Got 'em." Daisuke beamed."Yeah, I see that." Michael panted.

Before the small talk could escalate, Amaz was shouting at someone. Michael and Daisuke both turned quickly, guns ready, at the shadows. From the distance a few four letter words were uttered and a figure rose up. He held his hands above his head, with a firearm in one of them. Amaz was being very cop-ish and yelling at him to drop the weapon. Michael squinted hard, but soon made out a familiar fur coat and he ran forward between Amaz and Nagira.

"It's alright Shonen, he's one of ours." Michael confirmed as he caught Nagira's face. Nagira was older, slightly, since the last time he'd seen him; but there was no mistake. Nagira took one look at Michael and returned his gun to his coat in exchange for a cigarette.

"Long time." Nagira muttered as he lit up.

"Mmmhmm. What were you doing?" Michael asked, stepping over the deceased.  
  
"Same thing as you, I'd bet." Nagira took a sweet puff of nicotine and then blew out a cloud of smoke. Amaz had a look on his face as if he wished to arrest Nagira; but Daisuke was saying something to him. Michael clapped Nagira on the back once in a classic display of appreciation, and then bent down over the body.They'd got their witch, at least.

**XxXxX******

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Maiji."

"Maiji-sama, it's Kuro. Van Quan's signal just went offline."

A silence, then.

"Can we proceed?"

"Yes ma'am. I believe we can."

"Fine. Call the others."

"Oh, and Maiji-sama, about that other issue we spoke of?"

"Yes?"

"Amon and Zaizen boarded the plane this morning. They're going to Germany."

Another pause.

"Are you certain it was Zaizen?""There is no mistake. Apparently he is alive after all."

"It would appear so. If Amon sought out someone he hated so, there's no limit to what he's willing to do to prevent our plans from progressing. He must be dealt with."

"Of course, Ma'am. I'll put someone on it."

"See that you do."

Click.

**XxXxX**** XxXxX** **XxXxX**** XxXxX XxXxX**

**Tunes: **_How Am I Doing? – _**Dierks Bentley**__

**Rant**: Yes, I am back. I'm sure that many of you thought all those flames drove me away. Not the case. Actually I simply went on a family vacation to see my dad, which prevented me from working on this story. While there I got addicted to Flame of Recca and Detective Conan, and the rest is history. Anyway, after getting a nice email today, I decided I was going to continue this story after all.

The emailer gave me his penname on here, but I lost the letter. So if you're reading this, can you send it to me again, or review with it or something? I feel bad cause I was going to thank you personally, and now I can't.

Oh. One more thing. It seems like everyone who reads my stories either loves me WAY too much, or hates me completely. Can we just find a middle ground? If my personality or my stories bother you; then don't read them. If you're going to read them anyway, then just don't complain, k? You read it yourself. And for all those who say things like "you're the best writer on FFNet" and stuff like that; well, I'm flattered you think so, but it isn't true.  
  
Although don't let that stop you from saying it. –wink wink-

No. That was wrong of me to say. Heheh. So?  
  
Well, I'm off now. Enjoy the chapter m'friends, I'll have more up later!  
  
And check out my new penname "Brandon Rice". So far there's only two stories on it, but pretty soon I'm launching some Detective Conan stories AND a new ANGSTY Inu-Yasha fic. If you're a Sango/Miroku fan, you might like it. So come check it out.

Anyway, I talk too much.  
  
Ciao. 


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